“Owning your Queer identity speaks truth to power. Refuse to give up on something you believed in. Being consistent, kind and authentic to yourself is power.”- Kieron Jina
Photographer: Alyssa Rivas
Kieron Jina aka Homoslap / Afrohomo
Multidisciplinary Artist / DJ / Facilitator & Lecturer
Pronouns: They/Them/He
Working primarily in the realms of performance art, visual art, theatre-making and with a background in film, Jina's masterpieces include Afrofuturism, migration, Identity, sexuality, new technology, Indigenous cultural practices, site-specific performance, collaboration, and interdisciplinary creative practices. Jina has also won multiple awards and artistic residencies that lead to performances and art creations in Brazil, Germany, Austria, France, Reunion Island, Nigeria, Tanzania, South Korea & Switzerland. Jina has been awarded the Top 200 M&G Young South Africans in the Arts and Culture Category for performance art in 2012. Also, recognised as an African Queer Warrior in the Arts and Culture category 2020 by Exit newspaper.
Early life and upbringing: do you have any vivid memories of growing up in Wentworth, Durban?
I remember sitting on the porch of my grandparents’ home in Wentworth, Durban. We would eat mangoes and lychees from the lush communal garden trees. The whiff of home cooked meals, joy and laughter would fill the air. I am most grateful for the life lessons we would share when we gathered in the same space.
The ocean became a space for me to reflect and of course provide a space for my thoughts to flow. I spent many years visiting Durban as a child surrounded by family and particularly cousins. The sound of church choir voices would spill into the streets like a godly sized wave. Our parents in this community made sure that we as children never were exposed to the violence that was roaming the streets in those times. Money was tight but we were grateful for the little things that we received. The time spent with family in Durban gave me an opportunity to root my understanding of my identity and the community of people I come from.
My mother left Durban for Johannesburg with me when I was a very young child to pursue her dreams and what was perceived to be the big city of gold and possibilities. My grandmother would tell me stories of her childhood and would remind me of the struggles she faced growing up during apartheid. I remember listening to stories that my grandparents would tell us, especially my grandfather on how he managed to walk from East London all the way to Durban and there he found my grandmother.
My community became a testament to my life: keep walking, keep dancing, keep being authentic and living your dream.
Can you remember any early expressions of creativity, and what/ who do you think prompted them?
My grandmother and I would sit on her bench and look up at the sky. Aeroplanes would pass the blue sunny skies. I would tell her stories in my own language and she would listen - stories of my imagination. And I would always end the stories off with saying “the sky, SHE is moving!” We would always solidify our love with laughter and a hug.
I remember dancing to the sounds of music coming from the radio that my mother would play on Sunday mornings. The music travelled throughout the house and the smell of a delicious warm Sunday seven colours lunch was being prepared in the kitchen. The colours of the food inspired my creative palette for art making. Mama would always encourage us to read, she would say “read anything that would allow you to travel the world through words”. Literature and poetry allowed for us to transcend boundaries that were created based on the colour of skin.
We played games, had talent shows, charades and art supplies became our essential dessert after meals. We played with paint, we played with text, we played with sound and we play with our stories. The sounds of local and international jazz filled the atmosphere of a beautiful struggle. Salif Keita, Miriam Makeba, Letta Mbulu, Miles Davis, John Coltrane, Dizzy Gillespie and Brenda Fassie were a few of the sounds we heard.
From a young age I was asked to always tell my stories through verbal and non-verbal communication. My stories were told through gestures and words but always came from a place deep within my body. The stories that were told around fireplaces at family gatherings in other words oral traditional storytelling ignited creativity within me. Indigenous practices based on research have always shown that we continue to share, heal and teach our peoples experiences through methods of storytelling.
You’ve spoken about one of your vivid childhood memories of standing in the voting queue with your mother in 1994. Later on in life, did you have conversations with her about what that moment was like for her?
I remember this time because it was an important time for all South Africans. South Africa was beginning to change. My mother would tell me stories of how she would not be allowed into a restaurant in order for her to accompany me to the bathroom as she was considered non-white. As a young child I had to brave walking through an environment where people hated my very existence just to urinate.
Later in life, I asked my mother “Why do I enjoy eating outside in the sun and particularly when we go to restaurants?” My mother explained how difficult it was during a time where we were not allowed to eat inside of the restaurants because of the colour of our skin. My mother would make the experience of sitting outside of a restaurant much more comforting by saying “it’s so much better to be outside than inside.”
My mother remembers a time where she had to face the brutality of the apartheid regime who disregarded her firstly based on the colour of her skin and then secondly because she was a female. A woman I perceive like many women on the face of this planet as powerful, resilient and graceful. My mother would revisit these stories in a kind manner and tell us that to rage against the enemy is not a source of healing. The 1994 elections gave hope after many years of fighting. My mother could dream of a brighter future for my brothers and I. It was a time of hope and it was a time of great struggle. United we stand!
Photographer: Roman Handt
Young queer children usually don’t have the language to describe their identities, and often just feel a sense of being “different”. Was that true for you?
As children we are taught the difference between things from our parents, their ancestors and later our societies. We only understand as children the difference from a white dot to a black dot based on the teachings from our elders. We acknowledge our difference between the ages of 5 to 8 years old and only then do we start realising that we are different.
We were exposed to the notion of difference from a very young age because of the country we live in and based on the colour of our skin. I only later discovered my sexual identity because like most we are ashamed to celebrate our difference. The dominant perceived norm regarding sexuality is shoved down our throats from a very young age. We are taught that a girl meets a boy, falls in love and happily ever after (wrong!). Being different is way more challenging yet brings you closer to understanding your authentic existence in this world. We must always remember to question what was given to us from our predecessors in order to create our own history. I am proudly queer!
Throughout our lives, people attach labels to us, and those labels reflect and affect how others think about our identities as well as how we think about ourselves. Labels are not always negative; they can reflect positive characteristics, set useful expectations, and provide meaningful goals in our lives. Often, however, the labels that we use to describe each other are the result of unfounded assumptions and stereotypes.
Photographer: Alyssa Rivas
What was the move to Johannesburg like in your early childhood?
Moving to Johannesburg was perceived as a beacon of hope for change. I have lived in Johannesburg for most of my life but would go and visit my grandparents and cousins in Durban for the school holidays. The feeling of returning to Johannesburg was always sad because I appreciated the sense of community and belonging in Durban. I later grew to love Johannesburg and didn’t feel sad because I began to create a new community of people.
There is something special about Durban. The tropical agriculture, warm ocean waters and the humidity was something I really appreciated about Durban.
Johannesburg on the other hand was and still is a space to meet the world, a cultural melting pot of diversity and inclusion.
Johannesburg is one of my many homes.
How would you describe your view on art and performance at that time?
Art offered an escape from the everyday. It allowed for me to not feel overwhelmed. Art was the space to express my ideas. I found myself immersed in art as I still do believe that art offered an opportunity to heal and question my everyday existence. Art made for good medicine. Art opened my heart and fed my mind. It allowed for me to experience self-awareness and an even deeper connection to others as we were able to feel and interpret what we saw.
You went on to do a double major (film and drama) at WITS, but you’ve spoken about how you eventually found non-verbal expressions through movement and choreography as entry points to create your own authentic narratives- when did that shift happen?
As a queer artist once I started to understand my identity and the way I wanted to present myself in the world it gave me a sense of empowerment. Non-verbal communication is an important part of understanding empowerment through embodiment. Embodiment is one of the many methods of healing past traumas and social injustices.
In university I watched many silent films but could understand the power of the message through non-verbal communication. Words have power but gestures have even more power. We are able to recognise an emotion from a gesture or a behaviour. Somatic-based practices have allowed for me to understand and to recognise emotions stirred on by trauma.
In my practice to date I work with non-verbal communication which includes repetition, contradiction, substitution, complementing and accenting. There are many different types of non-verbal communication which I particularly work with such as facial expressions, body movement and posture, gestures, eye contact, touch, space and the invisible voice.
Photographer: Alyssa Rivas
Your first solo performance, Infectious “focuses on an issue we encounter on a daily basis. You have chosen to turn a deaf ear and now the consequences are near!”. But it was also created with someone who you considered to be a second mother in mind, right?
Yes, it takes a village to raise a child. This is an African proverb that means that an entire community of people must interact with children for those children to experience and grow in a safe and healthy environment.
My second mother, her name was Dorothy, she passed away from HIV and this affected me deeply. Infectious was conceptualised and performed by me to pay homage to her after her passing. Creating a performance was a means of letting go and finding hope in holding on to her memory.
Stigma and avoiding certain viruses can cause one to believe that people are turning a deaf ear to what is really going on in the world. We are living through another pandemic currently called COVID-19 and it is traumatic to see how many people we are losing per day. I have begun to start thinking about a new performance work that will capture these precarious times.
Would you then say that Homodryer, another of your works, is a companion piece to Infectious because it was inspired by her passing away?
Each of my performance works speak to one another through content and dramaturgy. I think it’s important to find a thread that harnesses a true emotional connection through my body of work. It takes time to understand what the connection is but when you as the audience see my work, you start to draw the connections to your own ways of perceiving the world.
I believe it’s a gift to share your experiences and narratives through art. It’s especially significant when you can draw on people who have affected your life in some way or another, my mentors always remind me to dig deeper and find the essence through connection.
In addition to creating your own narratives, you are also passionate about teaching and facilitating creative journeys for others. You’ve mentioned that a goal of yours is to revisit indigenous African performance forms and play a part in elevating them to a place where they are on equal footing with Euro-centric practices. How do you navigate that?
Indigenous knowledge systems and practices are local knowledge developed over centuries of experimentation and are passed orally from generations to generation. Indigenous performance arts provide a means of cultural expression and are a vehicle for the maintenance and transmission of culture. The performance and visual arts are used to promote health and well-being. The main aim for creating and performing - translate other knowledge with artist-teachers to create networks for sharing knowledge.
I aim to affirm indigenous and traditional practices, expressions and methods of performance making. Being aware of how western and Eurocentric practices have drawn from and built particular performance structures. And sometimes with an attempt to erase indigenous and traditional art making practices. I have begun creating projects that focus on group dynamics of how people express an authentic style of performance in a particular place-based performance. If we continue to reflect, dig deep, listen and reinvent then we will continue to preserve these ancient and authentic practices. Each culture brings a dynamic perspective and each voice must be equally heard. This is a long road but we remain open to learning and sharing.
Photographer: Sanmari Marais
Did you find there was some kind of tension that came with working toward decolonising these practices within an education system that is still very much colonised. How did that influence the work(s)?
Some institutions continue to reject the radical transformation that is needed within our educational systems and pedagogies of learning. Facing the wrath of being a change maker and a cultural worker I find it does create certain intensities with individuals who are not ready for change or prefer the old way. Things are changing every second and systems need to change cause let’s face it they were designed to only favour a select group of people.
It takes courage to stand up and change things that don’t serve us all. Education has been the space I have learnt to question various systems and their design. After many years of feeling misrepresented in the knowledge that was taught to me. I began paving a way forward by researching artists, educators and change makers who were working on decoloniality. What a mess and a breath of fresh air all at the same time – a mess, because you realise how many injustices there have been in our history and how much work needs to be done to unlearn these patterns of thinking. A breath of fresh air, because you can see there is a way to radically transform the system but it will take many years.
Photographer: Lauren Mulligan
I create work that highlights the way the world has been riddled with stereotypes and find ways of challenging these stereotypes to offer a different way of perceiving the world. Or even offering a perception to a definition of a word for example. Telling my story was one way of realising that this is the only way we will begin to face the injustices. I live in hope that a younger generation will continue to reveal their stories so that the world can hear that diversity and multiple opinions is the only way forward. I tell myself to continue making work because it teaches, helps with growth and heals – we still have a long way to go! Aluta continua!
Let’s face the facts that colonisation and its afterlife still breathes through the lands, financial pockets and even tongues of many to date.
Why do you think we import so much Western/ European art and performances and export so much of our own?
Cultural exchange is an essential way of understanding different parts of the world and how they form their ideologies. We import and export performances to share and learn what other walks of life are doing. It’s a currency of language, tradition, culture and social capital.
We learn from each other’s ways of conceptualising, crafting and presenting. It’s an important part of finding synergy and differences – how we learn to accept or challenge the way people exist in the world.
You’ve also toured extensively- what is the biggest difference in the way local and international audiences receive your work?
Local audiences engage my work with a better understanding of the content and can relate in some way or another. International audiences engage with the conventions of performance making and the critique on stereotypes that I challenge. I also find that both groups of audiences find the connection to the unconventional storytelling methods that I select to convey. Local audiences make soft comments when I am performing here in South Africa (something I really love to hear as it adds such an interesting layer to the performance) whereas in other parts of the world people keep silent.
There’s also a strong activist element to your work, particularly the works that explore Queer issues. Why was it important for you to take the likes of Emerge-in-see and Till death do us part! to the streets and outside traditional performance spaces?
Art is for everyone or at least it should be. Both performances were created as a dialogue between myself and the city. The bystanders who manage to observe the performance and unexpectedly get an opportunity to engage in topics that are not necessarily discussed in the public domain. Taking work out of the theatre provides an opportunity for various people to engage with the body of work. Sensitive issues that are not necessarily discussed in public, become more visible in the public domain.
Performance is life and life is performance. Where does one find the threshold between reality and made up concepts. Art as activism or “artivism” creates dialogues between the public and the artist. I think it’s important to question the spaces that we present our identities and how these spaces can support the construction of identities.
Would you agree that installations, interventions and public performance art are a great way to democratise art?
Yes, there are many ways for people to engage with the environment that surrounds them. Taking art to the people allows for dialogue that integrates all members of civil society. We should continue to disrupt the norm of experiencing art. We have the capabilities and access to build different ways of experiencing art in spaces and places. Art can be created to enhance our way of thinking about space and creating new histories.
When talking about dismantling existing structures and ideologies, you said you were all about “changing perspectives, whether through a utopian or dystopian lens”. Why do you think that’s effective?
Dismantling existing structures and ideologies that hold up archaic ways of existing must be brought to order. Storytelling has the power to shift our ways of perceiving what is a utopian or dystopian environment. Art is the catalyst for change within our societies. We can continue to exist in our old ideologies or we can challenge our perception of fear. Binary systems shouldn’t be the only way we are supposed to perceive notions and understandings of definitions.
Photographer: Marc Philipp Gabriel
What is “Afrofuturism” to you? And how do you think the everyday person can access that concept?
It is an intersection of imagination, technology, the future and liberation through a queer lens. Afrofuturism is a cultural aesthetic, philosophy of science and philosophy of history that explores the developing intersection of African diaspora culture with technology. Afrofuturism addresses themes and concerns of the African diaspora through techno-culture and science fiction. The everyday person refers to media sources such as literature, performance, music and visual art as these allow for our imaginations to think greater than what we experience in reality. Afrofuturism offers the everyday person an opportunity to challenge their perception of reality and offers the imagination an opportunity to see greater than the everyday.
The pandemic has revealed, amongst many other things, just how much of an afterthought artists are for the Government. And so I find it strange when people say artists shouldn’t be political- what’s your opinion?
Art is political and should always be recognised as the game changer. Many cultural practitioners work as a bridge between society and greater concepts of understanding on how to exist in the world. Artists who create work have the ability to reflect the everyday society but also offer the opportunity to see a different future. Art that questions leadership and policies can be very intimidating for governments. It can expose corruption and lead societies into states of revolutions. It is imperative for art to impact the possibilities of change within the global world context.
And finally, what kind of legacy do you want to leave behind?
Your body is not an apology! Owning your Queer identity speaks truth to power. Refuse to give up on something you believed in. Being consistent, kind and authentic to yourself is power. Showing up, listening up and shutting up. You don’t need to be a superhero or have advanced degrees but keep open to learning and engaging in relationships. The key is not to be interesting but rather to be interested. Awaken your body's senses and try daily to work at embodiment.
Photographer: Migal Vanas
